The day he walked into school, the air felt different—like something had shifted, and no one had noticed but me.
I was sitting on the front steps, sipping from a half-warm coffee I probably shouldn't be drinking, eyes half-closed against the morning sun. My hair was already a mess, even though I spent the remaining 10 minutes till the bus came trying to fix it. I was so tired that I didn't care anymore. Mondays had that effect on me. No Amaya today—she texted saying she was out sick. I was alone. It was quiet.
And then he showed up.
He walked through the gates like he didn't even notice he was new. Backpack slung over one shoulder, black curls bouncing a little with each step. His varsity-style jacket was open over a fitted hoodie, and he wore it like it belonged to him—like the school belonged to him, even though he'd probably never stepped foot here before.
He was tall. Not bulky, but athletic, strong. The kind of guy you'd assume plays sports. His eyes—dark, almost black—scanned everything, sharp and alert. He didn't look lost, just observant. Like he was already memorizing who sat where, who spoke first, who laughed too loud.
And then—just for a second—he looked at me.
Not through me. At me.
My heart did this stupid stutter thing in my chest. I lowered my gaze fast, pretending to sip from my empty cup. I told myself it was nothing. He was probably just glancing around.
But I knew better. I always knew better when it came to feelings I wasn't supposed to have.
He walked past me, shoes crunching against loose gravel on the pavement. The scent of his cologne lingered for a second—warm, woodsy, way too mature for high school. And then he was gone, disappearing into the building like a ghost who hadn't realized he was about to haunt someone.
I stared after him.
No one else had noticed him yet. But they would. They always do.
I sighed, getting to my feet and brushing off the back of my jeans. The bell rang.
First period.
And for some reason, I had a feeling it wasn't going to be a normal day.
---
Room 112 smelled like dry-erase markers and dust, and the flickering overhead lights gave me a headache before the class even started. I slid into my usual seat—second row from the back, by the window. My safe zone. I pulled out my notebook, already flipping to a clean page, ready to copy down whatever notes we were about to get. My pen hovered over the paper, but my mind kept drifting, nerves buzzing under my skin for no real reason. Then the door opened.
"Class, we've got a new student today," Mr. Flanders announced in that bored, I-don't-get-paid-enough voice he always used. "Take a seat anywhere."
And there he was again.
The new guy.
Up close, he looked even better than I remembered from the front steps. His jawline could cut glass. His eyes flicked over the room, and again—again—they landed on me. Just for a moment. Long enough that I almost forgot to breathe.
Then he walked down the row... and sat in the empty seat right next to mine.
Of course he did.
My grip on my pen tightened. I could smell his cologne again—same warm scent. And up close, I noticed a small scar just above his eyebrow, like a faint lightning bolt. It made him look even cooler, which felt unfair.
"Hey," he said, turning slightly toward me. His voice was deep, calm. Confident without trying.
I looked up, blinked. "Hi."
"I'm Mateo," he said, offering a small smile. His lopsided kind—the kind that feels like it's just for you.
"Zeke," I mumbled. I hated how small my voice sounded.
"Cool name," he said easily, then looked back at the board like we hadn't just exchanged the most loaded two seconds of my life.
Mr. Flanders started droning on about cellular respiration or something equally soul-crushing, but all I could focus on was the way Mateo sat—relaxed, like he belonged here. Like he belonged next to me.
I didn't know if I was supposed to say more. I didn't. I just stared at my notes and tried not to glance sideways every five seconds.
About halfway through the lecture, he leaned over a little, lowering his voice.
"Hey—what's his deal? The teacher. He always like this?"
I stifled a laugh and whispered back, "Yeah. If he raises his voice more than once a year, someone calls a wellness check."
Mateo chuckled softly. "Good to know."
That smile again. Damn it.
He smelled good. He laughed at my joke. And he was sitting next to me.
I was so screwed.
I tried to pay attention. Really, I did.
Mr. Flanders was sketching something on the whiteboard that looked vaguely like a mitochondrion but also maybe a sad pancake. The words "cellular energy" were floating somewhere in my peripheral vision.
But all I could really see was him.
Mateo had one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bouncing just slightly under the desk. His hand twirled his pen between his fingers like it was second nature. I caught the little furrow between his brows as he actually paid attention, head tilted like he was trying to understand it all.
Meanwhile, I was sitting there trying not to combust.
My notes were a disaster. The last line I'd written just said mitochondria is the powerhouse of—oh no he just looked at me again. I crossed it out so fast I nearly tore the page.
I glanced sideways, pretending I needed to check the time on the clock behind him. Mateo tapped his pen on his paper and leaned back slightly, hoodie bunching at his arms in a way that was unfairly attractive. I swallowed hard.
Why did he have to sit right next to me?
It was like the universe looked at my quiet little emotional repression bubble and decided, "Let's light that on fire."
"Zeke."
I jolted.
"Huh?"
Mr. Flanders raised an eyebrow. "Since you're clearly very engaged, would you mind explaining how ATP is formed during cellular respiration?"
I froze.
Mateo glanced at me, then subtly slid his notebook across just enough for me to see the answer scribbled at the top of his page.
I stared at it like it was written in ancient runes before stammering, "Uh—glycolysis, Krebs cycle, electron transport chain... ATP?"
Mr. Flanders gave a slow, suspicious nod. "Right. Moving on."
Mateo grinned at me, low-key impressed.
I turned so red I probably could've powered the classroom's heating system.
"Thanks," I mumbled under my breath.
"No problem," he whispered back.
I pretended to write something down, but my hand was shaking, so I just underlined the word mitochondria three times and hoped I didn't pass out.
If this was day one… I was in for a long year.
---
The cafeteria was buzzing—trays clattering, voices bouncing off the walls, the usual chaos. I grabbed a sandwich I wasn't going to eat and scanned the room automatically for Amaya's ponytail before remembering she wasn't here today.
Right. Just me.
And maybe—hopefully—Mateo.
I spotted him near the lunch line, head tilted as he listened to someone talking. His expression was polite, a little amused. Like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh or not. I waited by the corner of the table Amaya and I usually shared, half-standing, half-hoping.
He grabbed his tray. Turned.
This is it.
And then—
"Yo, new guy!" some guy from the soccer team called. "Mateo, right? C'mon, sit with us!"
My stomach dropped.
Mateo looked over, hesitated—just a second—and then smiled and headed their way.
I sat down.
Of course, he didn't see me. Of course, he didn't know. He barely knows my name.
I picked at the bread of my sandwich, tearing little corners off, hands restless. I glanced over at the table across the cafeteria. Mateo laughed at something—really laughed, head thrown back, dimples flashing.
God. Why.
Why does he have to smile like that? Why does he have to be nice? Why does he have to sit like that, with his elbow propped on the table and one foot tapping under his chair like he's got music playing in his head?
Why does my chest feel tight?
I don't like him. I can't like him. I mean—I can't, right?
I've never… liked a guy before. Never really thought about liking a guy before. That's not me. I'm not gay. I never said I was. I've never even liked anyone before.
But my heart thuds every time I look at him.
I steal another glance.
He's biting into an apple. Just an apple. Normal human behavior. So why does it look like a cinematic moment from a teen movie?
I look away fast, face burning. My fingers press against my temple like I can think the feelings out of me.
This is stupid.
No. That's not all.
This is something else. Something deeper. Something that makes my hands shake and my mouth dry up and my head spin.
And then the thought hits me. Clear as day.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be gay if it's him. I stared.
Oh no. I'm gay.
And totally head over heels for a guy I don't even know.
I bury my face in my hands, groaning quietly into my palms.
This is so not what I planned for today.